


Gods Going Down With Their Ships

by TurntechKnight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 4 a.m. and i'm still reeling, Angst, indulgence in ectosibling bond sue me, john egbert has gone missing, upd8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurntechKnight/pseuds/TurntechKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it's not Jade, it's -- it's essentially her Big Bad Wolf equivalent, and you hate yourself for thinking that, but it is, it is, it's Jade and it's dressed up like your sister but it's the shadow of everything she's supposed to be. This Jade isn't looking at you like she wants to laugh and ruffle your hair and call you an idiot, she's looking at your like she wants you broken and bleeding on the ground.</p>
<p>Prospit Siblings || Update Fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods Going Down With Their Ships

She shouldn't be upright like that; that's the first thing that occurs to you when the meteor comes into sight, with her glowing like some sort of warped glowstick at its head. Not the enormous rock hurtling towards you, not the life-or-death spasm of adrenaline from your gut to your forehead, not the ache between your shoulderblades from where you hit the ground. Maybe you're still used to all that, or maybe it's just not registering yet, like the entire situation just fissioned and exploded like a shattering bomb and left your rational consciousness reeling miles and miles away, but all you can think is that Jade looks, like, really strange standing stark-straight on the meteor like that, as if the fact that it's hurtling through space has absolutely no effect on her. She should be flying back, or at least trembling under the force of the wind beating into her, shaking like a leaf in high wind or whatever, or -- or _something_.

As it is, it just looks like a failed special effect in some shitty old sci-fi movie, and you almost laugh, ugly and bright, because really, that's what this is. Haha Jade, very funny, quit playing evil space witch overlord and get back here for the great big reunion we've been waiting three years for. Our friends are here, Jade. Come on, waiting's finally over. Jade. _Jade._

And true to form, the second thing to occur to you is

_Jade._

You managed to keep the first thing down, but the surreality of the situation is finally catching up with you, and you can't stop yourself this time. "Jade?" Your voice is hoarse and soggy like crumpled up sandpaper, and that's how it feels against your throat, like the time you had bronchitis in third grade and Dad had a thermometer under your tongue once every twenty minutes. (A pang between your ribs that threatens to crack them open, _Dad_ , he's been gone and now--) "Jade! Jade, what the hell are you--"

You're rambling like a moron, but the words are snatched up one by one and swallowed by the stars, and even you know she can't hear you. If the rules of shitty movies are still in effect, she just isn't going to. And that--

There's this weird cosmic cocktail of different feelings sloshing around in your ribs and spilling up into your throat -- not emotions, but half-imprints that have brushed through you in the past ten minutes, or however long it's been. An explosion of sparks, when you saw everyone scattered at your feet; something dimmer and warmer when your knees began to knock and your thoughts started catching up with you, the taste of darkening silver in your lungs when you felt yourself whisking away before you could seize the victory buzzing in the pads of your fingers.

(Distantly, you wonder if that's what Karkat felt like when the door was closing and the final line of light disappeared from his forehead, like all the lights in the universe had been shut off and in spite of all the people around him he was the last to know. You wonder if it's even okay to think things like that.)

And now.

And now you don't really know how to translate what you're feeling; Rose was always best with words and Jade was always the one who could pick apart her emotions easy as breathing, and Dave had music to scratch his heart into and you have never been anything less than fine, but you just. Can't.

You're still blabbering when you feel the Zillyhoo's handle materializing between your fingers, the weight still familiar after all this time. You dismiss it as soon as it comes. She's more powerful than you, sure, but you doubt you could even go down swinging against

"Jade, stop, it's me, John -- _Jade,_ it's John, I'm your brother, goddammit Jade, _stop,_ I know you're--"

And suddenly the world is shifting and the meteor's gone and she's right there, floating above and in front of you like she has a hundred times before; you don't know how long she stays there, but it must be a while, because you manage to think about plenty of things before she moves again. Her skin is leaking some sort of molten shadow and her hair a tangled mess, like Rose when she blackened against the gold of the castle and started garbling her words like something from another world. But grimdark Rose was still Rose, was still your friend, still looked at you like she was about to confide in you some sort of crucial information.

But _this_ isn't Jade, it's -- it's essentially her Big Bad Wolf equivalent, and you hate yourself for thinking that, but it is, it is, it's Jade and it's dressed up like your sister but it's the shadow of everything she's supposed to be. This Jade isn't looking at you like she wants to laugh and ruffle your hair and call you an idiot, she's looking at your like she wants you broken and bleeding on the ground.Your stomach drops. This isn't Jade. You wonder if it ever will be again.

(Something in you, something stupid and wholly dedicated to filing away irrelevant thoughts for later inspection, remembers that you were supposed to be meeting that penpal of hers; her grandson, sort of, or her young grandfather, the one who still wrote with the spill-over enthusiasm of a starstruck kid. You wonder if he'll see her like this, or if he already has. You hope not. God, you hope not.)

She gathers herself up to strike you, resplendent and massive and inevitable, and you fumble to reconsider your options. You don't. You don't want to die. Can you? Is that how god tier works? Zillyhoo is still a thought away, and your mind is flickering wildly away from you, thinking maybe you could do it, you could hold your own against Jack for at least a little bit after all, maybe you could knock her out of whatever stupor she's in, at the very least save yourself--

But then you're thinking about Jade throwing herself infront of you, Jade curled up small and broken and dead on the battlefield, just to spare you the trauma; you think about the way you would fall asleep on her when you two stayed up too late on the ship, how she could always outlast you, how she'd smooth your hair back and make you comfortable before trudging up to her room upstairs. You think about how Jade is your sister, and how before that she was your best friend, and how you could never, ever do that to her.

"Jade--"

Her foot strikes you in the face, and you don't have time to note the throbbing sting on your cheek before you're nothing -- before you're wind dissipating into paradox space and you're going far, so far, and you finally understand how Jade felt on the ship, when all she wanted was to go faster and it felt like she wasn't moving at all.

You don't know when you rematerialize; you can't sense anything around you when you do, nothing but the sting-clip of a cut connection. Your breathing is ragged against the lacking in the air. You can feel your heartbeat in every cell of your body.

Your name is John Egbert and you have gone missing.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god, this is clumsy as anything; i'm just reeling from the update and it's 5:15 a.m. and hey, why not word-vomit into an ao3 document
> 
> no one is actually awake (not that i ever actually have anyone edit my writing, anyway, bad me), so just consider this a hastily dashed-off doodle in honor of the prospit kids and my love notes to their well-being. i'm going to go make a daisy chain and attempt to stop feeling shit over these kids
> 
> [tumblr](http://breathkind.tumblr.com/)


End file.
